


The Bench Meeting

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Footy Ficathon, M/M, Sexual Tension, The Ache in Your Legs Footy Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Why don’t you just fuck yourself?’ Robert literally spits out, several tones higher, and Jérôme spots the fiery sparkles in the blue abyss in front of him.</p><p>‘Why don’t I fuck you instead?’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bench Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Again, another one, inspired by this AU: 'Well, we're both here to meet a mutual friend to hang out but they dropped out last second and this is awkward.' and this Footy Ficathon prompt: http://thorodinscn.livejournal.com/818.html?thread=26162#t26162
> 
> P.S. Commeeeeent, don't be shyyyy! ;p

‘Ok, Mario, yes. Mhm, yes, I got it. Yes!’ Jérôme sighs and rolls his eyes. Decides to put his phone on speaker while arranging his hair in the mirror in front of him, ‘Ok, give me 30 minutes and I’ll be there.’

 

-

 

Robert fidgets nervously and anxiously looks around. Then looks at his watch. Then at the benches around. No sign of Mario. He murmurs something in Polish and decides to finally sit down on one of the benches, half-closing his eyes. The sun tingles his face and he smiles a bit, trying his best to relax and not to think of the 30-minutes-late Mario, who is not picking his fucking phone up.

 

‘Well, that’s a _surprise_!’ Robert snaps out just a minute later, recognising the thick voice. He frowns, realising the person is standing too close, shadowing him.

 

‘Jérôme.’

 

‘The fucktard.’

 

‘Look, it’s not pleasant for me either. Let’s just pretend that-…’

 

‘That’s fine for you, but Götze and I have a meeting here, so I suggest you fuck off and go buy a carrot-spinach smoothie. Don’t ruin your _Healthy plan by Ann_ , please.’

 

Robert bites the inside of his cheek, trying to regain his firm composure. Stands up slowly, but is still (as always) intimidated by Jérôme’s height.

 

‘Mario and I have a meeting here as well.’

 

‘On this bench?’

 

‘On this bench.’

 

‘Well, another fucktard, I guess,’ Jérôme rolls his eyes and puts his hands in the pockets of his dark-blue jeans.

 

‘He’s not answering his phone either. He was supposed to meet me more than half-an-hour ago.’

 

‘Fucking same here.’

 

‘Well, great! I see you are just on time, then. Thirty minutes late,’ Robert smirks and Jérôme clicks his tongue, directing his eyes down at the Pole.

 

‘I am sorry, you punctual and righteous and oh-so-perfect Robert Lewandowski. Some people are busy, unlike you.’

 

‘Oh, really?’ Robert folds his hands across his chest, ‘Busy? Busy admiring your perfect features in the mirror? Spreading your vanity around?’

 

‘Thanks for the compliment, I guess. I’ve always known you find my face _perfectly-featured_ ,’ Jérôme smirked and Robert mentally cursed himself, ‘I have my family, you know. Daughters, wife. Not smoothies and gluten-free food.’

 

‘I don’t see you minding my diet when checking out my abs in training,’ there is a silence after that and Jérôme wants to snap back, to put Robert at his place, but Robert is smiling and his eyes are shining and-…

 

Jérôme loses it. Loses _himself_ in the crystal blue eyes in front of him. He involuntarily smiles a bit, feeling an odd warmness spread through his chest and stomach.

 

‘You’re really the devil, aren’t you?’

 

‘What?’ the bluest eyes in the world get confused and Jérôme smile widens.

 

‘You pissed me off yesterday, you know.’

 

‘ _I_ pissed you off?’ Robert lets out a mocking laugh, ‘I can’t even stand you.’

 

‘Easy, easy, the feeling is mutual,’ Jérôme quickly gets his serious face back, frustrated that he has ever let his guard down, ‘I am gonna find Mario and rip his head off.’

 

‘Would love to help you with that,’ Robert snorts and Jérôme lifts an eyebrow.

 

‘Thought you couldn’t stand me.’

 

‘Why don’t you just fuck yourself?’ Robert literally spits out, several tones higher, and Jérôme spots the fiery sparkles in the blue abyss in front of him.

 

‘Why don’t I fuck _you_ instead?’ now, that is something neither of them expected. They stay silent for a few seconds until Jérôme notices Robert’s pale face slowly getting pinker and pinker. Robert lowers his gaze and Jérôme steps forward, (slightly) invading Robert’s personal space.

 

‘I am sorry, Robert,’ the Pole just nods in response, still looking at the ground. Jérôme’s breath hits his forehead and Robert shivers a bit.

 

‘For?’

 

‘For wanting to beat the shit out of you yesterday,’ Robert just hums something in response and shyly lifts his eyes up, meeting Jérôme’s. Robert’s cheeks get red but just before he lowers his gaze once again, Jérôme puts two fingers under his chin and glues their eyes again. Smirks, ‘But I won’t apologise for wanting to _fuck_ the shit out of you now.’

 

‘Jérôme-…’

 

‘Is Ania at home?’ Robert just shakes his head. Jérôme’s smirk gets wider, ‘Good. _Very_ good. I hope I won’t ruin your dietary and workout session.’

 

Robert finally manages a smirk as well. And Jérôme sees the devilish spark in those blue eyes once again, ‘Oh, but I _will_ exercise, Boateng, won’t I?’

 

Jérôme lets out a quiet moan, when Robert licks his lips and bites them teasingly. _That fucktard._ With the bluest eyes in the world. ( _And a great ass_ , Jérôme thinks, while following Robert to his car.)


End file.
